


Jambalaya and a crawfish pie

by thebookhunter



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Fucking, Oral, RPF, Sex, Smut, do you need particulars or will you just read the thing, right - Freeform, yes I know I know, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We can’t fuck on the street, we’ll get arrested” he exclaims, amused and slightly shocked, his eyes so wide, his smile so bright in the darkened street.</p><p>He’s panting, she’s panting, one word and she’ll be on her knees.</p><p>“Where then?” she says, a bit panicky. He’s not backing up on her, is he? “There are three more girls in my room. That is, if we can find the damn place.”</p><p>He chuckles and bites his lip, kind of shy, absolutely scrumptious.</p><p>“The whole band is in mine, but I have an alcove.” Bites his lip again. “Do you dare? Though I should probably mention that the partition wall is paper thin and the door is, well, non-existent.”</p><p>She licks her lips, swollen from kissing. She should say no, right? Following a stranger to a room with his also stranger mates? That’s the plot of a horror movie right there. Of course she should say no. Of course not. </p><p>He stares, eyes bright, little smirk, but he doesn’t push.  </p><p>You know what? She has always had a lot of faith in humankind, and in her own luck.</p><p>“Alright” she says. “Let’s go.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jambalaya and a crawfish pie

**Author's Note:**

> This is (revenge) (an attempt to cope) (self-defence) a response to the totally unprovoked attack on the world's gonads TWH launched with his surprise appearance at Wheathland country festival.
> 
> It might come as a surprise to some of my readers, who have by now pinned me down as a happily adjusted M/M slasher. I did not know if I was able to write het smut, and I felt like giving it a go. I had a lot more fun than I anticipated, but judge by yourselves.
> 
> This was intensively beta'd by her gracious majesty Catedevalois, gentle soul, slore extraordinaire, inspired editor and beautiful friend. This is 100% times better thanks to the work you've put into it. It was a pleasure working with you, your grace.

The last concert finished half an hour ago. It’s dark already. Her friends have already left for the hotel. They wanted her to come along, but she is too wired up to sleep. The night is thrumming with possibilities, she refuses to go to bed and just let this excitement die. Instead, she walks back to the bar they saw at the entrance of the festival venue. Not too many options around, it’s a small town. Two guys smoking by the door step aside to let her walk in; she thinks they checked her out, she’s not sure.  She quickly scans the place, trying to decide where the actual bar is, when she sees him at the other side of the room, the Guitar Guy in this afternoon’s surprise appearance, by a band nobody knew. Leather jacket, dark, barely there t-shirt, dark jeans, not tight but not roomy, cowboy boots, 1940’s slicked back gingerish hair, out-of-this-world handsome, and seemingly having the time of his life. His joy was contagious. By the time the band took their bows, everybody around her was smiling. She and her friends might also have been swooning. She just loves a man who can play, alright? Don’t judge. 

Her eyes take him in now —and there is a lot of him, he is so tall!—, delaying with a sigh around the delicious curve of his ass, and sliding down his thighs. She remembers sharing an awed look and a giggle with one of her friends after they caught glimpse of his cock bouncing through his jeans while he played, keeping the rhythm with one leg, shaking his hips ever so slightly. Bounce, bounce, bounce. She bites her lip and wants to laugh. She hears her mom’s voice in her head: ‘a lady should be above those things’. Well, she considers herself a lady, and she would love to be all over that thing.

 

He turns and finds her staring, and she gets flustered and looks away. Silly girl. What are you, sixteen? So she faces him again, heart thumping, and very nearly fucking dies when he pulls a little smirk and runs his eyes all over her. If that wasn’t a flow of actual boiling lava between her legs, she doesn’t know what it was.

Almost as if in slow motion, he grabs his drink and the guitar propped against the bar by his feet, and walks over to her side. Oh my fucking god, she thinks, swallowing dry.

“Hey” he says. “Are you from around here?” …And that has to be the sexiest bedroom voice she has ever heard. It wreaks havoc in her underbelly.  

“No” she says.

“Me neither. I’m Tom” He offers a hand.

She shakes it. Big, strong, dry hands, rough around the fingers. The things these hands could do to the most sensitive parts of her body. Girl, chill.

She swallows and says her name.

“You are here for the festival, right? I saw you dancing with some friends by the stage” he says.

Damn right they were. For a second there is panic. How had she been dancing? Oh, god, she had been doing the crazy when she’s had a drink and a half and just can’t be bothered who is watching, right? 

Well, it doesn’t seem to have put him off. 

“Yes” she says. Clears throat. “You’re good.”

Tom smiles like a million suns. “Thank you. It’s just for fun.”

She remembers him on the stage, plucking and scraping and laughing and keeping the rhythm (bounce, bounce, bounce) and radiating joy and fun, so luminous, thrilled like a little boy. She almost wants to pinch his cheeks.

“Well, you’re good” she says. 

He nods and smiles kindly. And if that wasn’t his eyes quickly dipping down to her mouth, she’s the Pope riding a bicycle.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks, eyes fixed on his.

They chat about nothing and everything for some time. The town, the weird summer it has been, the festival, acts they have seen, acts they haven’t. He is very expressive, and very, very handsome, all made of sharp lines and angles and with a jaw-splitting grin that lights up his whole face. And he's clever, and fun, and has interesting observations to offer, and she is sure that, at any other time, she would be delighted to spend the whole night in lively conversation with him. But right now all she can think is that she wants the getting-to-know-you stage to end quickly, because she is pretty sure she is getting lucky tonight, and she can’t fucking wait.

“Are you staying in town?” she asks eventually, when she finds an opening.

“Yup. We’re at the Cadogan.”

“Me too. It’s the only decent…” she starts, in sing-song.

“…only decent place around here” he finishes along with her, mimicking a falsetto voice with a heavy twang. Apparently, the day receptionist at the Cadogan offers the same welcome speech to all her new guests. They chuckle. His eyes squint and dip down to her lips. Her tongue peaks out to lick them out of its own accord. So when in the novels they speak of electricity between two people… Damn, if someone touches her now they’ll be zapped.

“Only my friends left and I don’t even remember how to get there” she says then.“I have an awful sense of orientation. As in, I don’t have one.” She smiles, a tad shyly perhaps, but this orientation thing does mortify her.  Later she’ll think it must have come out as coy, but it was honest to god just her thinking out loud, not a devious plan to get him to…

He laughs, a lovely, raspy, warm caress of a sound she feels right between her legs. Damn.

“Come on, I’ll walk you” he offers, grabbing the guitar and slinging it on his shoulder. “Unless you want to stay.”

Well, fuck. 

She hops off the tall bar stool and grabs her bag, smiling. Her thoughts must be showing on her face, shameless as they are, because he grins knowingly, and it’s fucking gorgeous. What a sexy fucker. She is not bothered that he knows what she wants. She has no intention of playing hard to get. Life is just too short, and him so damn tall.

 

He lets her lead the way. The rural, small town streets around the festival place are quiet and lonely at this time of night. There is no one about. The air is balmy, inviting, just right for all sorts of mischief. They don’t talk for a while. Walking side by side, their arms brush every now and then, and her heart races. It’s like being a teenager again. Sweet bird of youth! Better than being high.

“Are you lost yet?” he says, after a while.

She laughs. At herself. Because it’s all so silly, and because she’s completely giddy on pheromones, let's face it.

“Yes, actually” she chuckles. She looks around in the street and recognises nothing. All the houses look the same in this town. ‘Where the hell are we?"

As if he’s giving up, he stops and leans his back on a wall, guitar propped up next to him, hands in his pockets, a mischievous, absolutely irresistible smirk right at the corner of his mouth. She turns around and lets her eyes take him in openly, no shame, no shyness. The things the stark light from the lamppost does to his face. He looks fierce, intense. 

“Shall we keep walking, see if we can find the damn place?” she says. We need a room. Now.

He shakes his head slowly, eyes boring into hers, smouldering hot.

“No. I have a better idea. Come over here.”

She grins through the double flip her stomach has done. There’s a hot tingle between her legs. It tickles. He is looking at her like the cat who got the cream as she walks towards him. She feels sexier than she’s ever felt in her life.

She stops one foot away from him, looks up. “Now what” she says. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

“Now this” he purrs, one hand on her waist, another cupping her face, pulling her close for a kiss. He has to stoop to reach her mouth, and the angle is glorious. His kiss is deep, and when her hands rest on his hips and slide under his tee -so smooth there, so hard-, it gets deeper. He is good at this, so damn good, his mouth not too hard and not too soft, working her lips like they were always meant to come together. When their tongues connect he groans, turning her spine into goo.

He pulls her closer now, his thigh nudging between hers. She moans into his mouth when she feels the pressure against her crotch. She clenches her legs tight around it, and ruts ever so slightly, and when his mouth finds her neck, and then her ear, she feels she could come from that alone. His huge hands slide down her back and grab her ass, lifting her higher up on his thigh, increasing the pressure.

“Ah” she whimpers. She circles her hips a bit, and his hands grip her arse harder, and he hears him chuckle with delight when she moans right by his ear.

Her hands slide higher up his body under his tee, exploring. There’s nothing there that doesn’t feel good. For such a skinny guy, he’s so… well rounded. His back curves so beautifully, and she loves the feel of his spine between the hard muscles there, and so smooth, fuck. He feels wonderful. They don’t stop kissing, and the man is an artist. She’s rutting quicker and deeper now. She rakes her fingers down his back firmly, and now it’s Tom who moans. The things that sound just did to her are probably illegal in fifty states. She wants him to the point of… to the point of losing all common sense and notion of decency and fuck me against this wall right now or watch me burst into flames.

His arse is a fucking monument. She grabs it greedily and uses the grip to press herself more strongly against his thigh, her cunt throbbing with all the pressure and not enough friction. She’s a woman on a mission now, she has forgotten where she is and probably also who she is, but she’ll think about that later. 

But alas, she needs to give her crotch a break, regrettably, so she slides down. He hooks one calf around hers, trapping her, and still they don’t stop kissing. Hmmm. Between his thighs like that, she can feel his semi more or less on her navel —so damned tall! She runs her hand between his thighs, against his crotch, and as she bites his lip she strokes his cock, and rubs it, and squeezes it gently, relishing all the little sounds he makes. His lips have stopped, his eyes are narrowed to a glazed slit, she puts some pressure on again and his lids flutter. 

Now, she is a sensible girl, she is, she swears. But his face, for god’s sake, that shuddery gasp! Fuck it. She unbuttons the top button of his fly and starts sliding her hand in.

“We can’t fuck on the street, we’ll get arrested” he exclaims, amused and slightly shocked, his eyes so wide, his smile so bright in the darkened street.

He’s panting, she’s panting, one word and she’ll be on her knees.

“Where then?” she says, a bit panicky. He’s not backing up on her, is he? “There are three more girls in my room. That is, if we can find the damn place.”

He chuckles and bites his lip, kind of shy, absolutely scrumptious.

“The whole band is in mine, but I have an alcove.” Bites his lip again. “Do you dare? Though I should probably mention that the partition wall is paper thin and the door is, well, non-existent.”

She licks her lips, swollen from kissing. She should say no, right? Following a stranger to a room with his also stranger mates? That’s the plot of a horror movie right there. Of course she should say no. Of course not. 

He stares, eyes bright, little smirk, but he doesn’t push.  

You know what? She has always had a lot of faith in humankind, and in her own luck.

“Alright” she says. “Let’s go.”

His eyes lit up, his smile takes over his whole face. Extends his hand theatrically, with a flourish. She takes it, her own smile overflowing. Like a little boy and girl they dodge the cracks on the pavement, he walks the wire on the edge of the sidewalk, loses his balance and ends up pulling them both down. They shush each other when they realise how loud they’re laughing. Mister Officer, I swear, we’re not drunk.

They were a block and a half away from the hotel. He grins at her, impish, wags an eyebrow. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but not even biting her cheeks is she stopping the smile.

The night receptionist is a middle aged, moustached, creepy guy that repels her instinctively. Tom asks for the key to his room and Mr. Creepy Walrus casts a glance and a frown her way. It’s obvious what they are up to, and it’s obvious where they are going, and he knows Tom doesn’t sleep alone, so she has a pretty good idea of what the man thinks of her at this minute. She returns the man’s stare with raised eyebrows and a smirk. Oh, man, you have no idea how many fucks I don’t give right now.

Tom takes her hand again and they make for the stairs. On the first landing, she pulls him towards her by the neck of his leather jacket for a kiss, just because she can. He gives in immediately and crowds her against the wall, dropping the guitar slowly at his side to grab her thighs and wrap them around his hips. Now his half-hard cock is pressed right bang on her clit, not one but two thick seam ridges rubbing against her. She whimpers a high-pitched, breathy little sound, and he groans low pressing hard again. Their mouths touching but not kissing, his breath in her mouth, circling their hips together. It’s building up but it’s not enough. 

“Are you going to fuck me here?” she asks, her voice half-strangled. And if he says yes, she’s out of her pants in less than it takes to say “no I mean wait a second”.

He chuckles right against her ear. Dear lord, this sound is a fire hazard.

“No,” he whispers, his lips so close to the shell of her ear  “I want you naked.”

Gasp. His voice.

God damn, I need this man inside me.

“Well, let’s go then!” she bosses him, hopping off him and shoving him away and up the stairs. They race each other up. One more floor and here they are.

 “It’s this one” he mutters, panting slightly. He fumbles with the key, shifting around to try and get some of the emergency night light on the lock to be able to see what he is doing. All she can look at in the meantime is his ass. She thinks fuck it, he’s mine tonight, and strokes her hands over it, with a squeeze. One of her hands strays to his front. He’s fumbling with the key and she’s fumbling with his cock.

He chuckles, turning his head to peer at her over his shoulder.

“Naughty girl” he purrs.

It’s good that she is holding onto something,  because her knees have just turned to jelly.

The lock clicks, and he puts a finger to his lips, shushing them both. They tip-toe in the dark. To the left, three single beds with snoring musicians on them. To the left, the paper thin wall with a door opening and no door, and behind it, Tom’s alcove. He wasn’t kidding. The wall affords about as much privacy as a curtain. Are you really going to do this, woman. Have you lost your mind.

Tom bends over to put the guitar down in one corner, and holy Jesus, that ass... Yes, dammit, yes I have lost my mind, and I’m absolutely going to do this. Tom opens the curtains to let some of the street light in. There’s a lamppost right in front of the window, probably no less bright than the dingy bulb hanging naked from the ceiling. They won’t break their necks in the dark trying to find the bed. 

You know what, she doesn’t even feel scared, or unsafe, or on edge. She guesses she should. What does it say about her that she doesn’t?

Tom stands there facing her, wags his eyebrows, daring her. Will you or won’t you?

Oh, sweet summer child, will I ever. She drops her jacket, returning the stare, in what she hopes is a self-explanatory gesture. He smirks —god, so beautiful— and drops his jacket too. 

Well then.

Her top next. Black bra. Not exactly fine lingerie, but new-ish, clean, and with some lace. Not central-pages material perhaps, but if his ravenous, fevered expression as he takes her in is anything to go by, it will do just fine.

His turn. He loses his tee, slowly, playfully, and drops it to his feet. Her eyes go wide, her eyebrows high, and a deep breath is in order, because… Oh, fuck. She takes one step forward and come here now for the love of god. She’s wrapped in long, strong arms and kissed within an inch of her life, his warmth skin to skin making her head light. His hands on her back make her squirm and shiver.

She nearly squeaks when she feels his hands on her fly, one button after the other, until there’s room enough and his hands slide inside. His hand slithers over the front of his panties. It rubs gently, his mouth brushing softly against hers, his eyes locked on her face, taking in every expression and every sound. He hooks his hand over her and presses up. She gasps. Good god. She rubs herself and he lets her, his eyes never leaving her face. She’s a puddle of goo and he can do anything she wants with her right now, probably. He chooses to push her jeans down, slowly, slowly, and she wiggles to help them fall. 

Whereupon she remembers she’s still wearing her mountain boots. Huff and puff. This is the bit that doesn’t make it into the movies. She keels down with one knee on the floor to undo her laces. She looks up, daring him to make fun of the situation, and instead finds him eyeing the way her tits scrunch up together while she fumbles with her shoes. He seems to like the sight a lot, if his half-parted mouth and heavy breathing are anything to go by. 

She stumbles to the bed to kick her shoes off, still self-conscious about it. He crouches in front of her, his eyes so bright and humorous, and drags her jeans down the rest of the way, letting his hands stroke her skin as he does. Wags an eyebrow, that insanely sexy smirk of his making her cream. Down to her underwear now, there is nowhere to hide, no way to cover, disguise or flatter the bits of her body she spends way too much time worrying about. But he looks at her like he’s been hungry for years and she’s a cake shop. It’s quite reassuring. 

He’s on his knees between her thighs now, kissing, her legs wrapping around his waist. He slides his hands up to cup her breasts and squeezes gently, rubbing her hard nipples through the bra. She throws her head back and gasps.

“You’re so fucking sexy” he mutters, his voice a low, cunt-wrenchingly hot rumble. His hands slide under the fabric of her bra from underneath and knead her tits, making her moan and lick her lips, which she had not realised had been so dry. She puts her hands over Tom’s, holding them where she wants them. Her hips push forwards pretty much out of their own will to rut against his stomach. He’s driving her mad with his kiss and his hands on her breasts. She tries to reach his fly.

“Get up, get up, get up” she urges, when there is no way.

He obeys. Her face is now level with Tom’s crotch (it’s a tall bed), if she tilts her head up. His erection is making the crotch of his jeans bulge to the right. She runs one hand over it, softly at first. His hips stutter. She pulls him towards her with two solid handfuls of his ass, and she rubs her face, her mouth, her jaw against the bulge. His knees go a bit weak when she tightens her teeth gently on the taut, hard flesh of his cock. He moans loudly and she hushes him.

“Sorry” he pants.

She continues to nuzzle and stroke him through the fabric with her face and mouth, still kneading his plump, magnificent buttocks.

“Fuck” he groans after a moment, out of patience. He unbuttons himself and pushes his jeans to just below the curve of his butt. His cock juts free —no underwear, she knew it!—, hard, flushed dark, absolutely beautiful. She scrubs her hands over his bare crotch, feeling the soft curls there, on the sensitive skin in between the top of his thighs, and fumbles his sack in her hand, making him shiver. She nuzzles his crotch again, skin to skin this time, breathing him in. It’s a good smell, earthy, fleshy, somewhat tangy. Her cheek brushes against the velvety skin of his cock, and she hears him gasp. 

Enough with the teasing. With her eyes fixed on his, she closes her fist around his shaft, pulling the foreskin back, and puts the tip of her tongue right on the ridge under the head, flicking it softly. Tom breathes in sharply. She flicks again and then laps at it with the flat of her tongue. Tom’s hips are stuttering as he struggles to remain on his feet. He is arching back to be able to see her face. She likes that.

She licks the palm of her hand wet, clenches her fist around his cock again, and starts pumping him, while she wraps her lips around the head of his cock and sucks. She plays with her tongue around the ridges and bumps within the hot, wet seal of her lips. Another string of muffled curses and gasps tell her she is pushing the right buttons. One of his hands is threading in her hair, making her scalp tingle, while the other one is reaching for her tits at a slightly challenging angle, and good job his arms are long. As she licks and sucks and jacks him, her cunt pulses and prickles, and there’s a delightful havoc being wreaked throughout her body.

His hips are shaking with the effort of controlling himself. He puts both hands on her head and pushes her gently away.

“I’m going to come if you keep at it” he pants.

“What else do you want?” she whispers, her hands still stroking his ass, the world’s fucking seventh wonder.

“I really want to lick you” he mutters, that low rumble of his, with an urgent edge to it now, making her clit flutter.

“Hm. But I want you naked” she whispers. Just in case he is thinking of leaving anything on.

He smirks and shakes his head in mock dismay as he sits down on the bed next to her to wrestle his leather boots off. With that taut neck of his within reach, waste not want not, she thinks, and lurches forwards to kiss it, kneading with her lips. He smells so fucking good right there. He offers his neck to her, side, then throwing his head back, his skin breaking into goose bumps, his eyes droopy. She half-climbs onto his lap to work his throat. The noises he makes, dang, she’ll be eighty and they will still put a smile on her lips. He kisses her then, before pushing her off gently.

“Let me…” He gets up to push his jeans down and kick them off.

Stark naked now. She runs her hands from his hips down his thighs and back again, and her eyes drink him in, in long, lazy strokes. Those long, muscled thighs, his trim waist, his broad shoulders, the bones at the base of his neck, the perfect relief of his torso, the small, dark nipples, the sprinkle of hair on his chest, and under his navel, as it thickens up around his cock. And his cock hard and proud and delicious, glimmering in the dim light with her spit and his pre-come.

She pretends to faint, touching one hand to her forehead and plopping back on the bed, and he laughs, rather endeared, and so goddamned gorgeous.

He kneels on the floor between her thighs again, and positions her the way he wants her on the bed. It’s a very narrow mattress, and a very narrow room, so she ends up with her thighs resting on his shoulders.

Now it’s his turn to eyefuck her senseless, as he brings his mouth close to her panties, and breathes his hot, moist breath there, before nuzzling between the clothed lips right on her swollen clit and flicking his nose there.

“Ow” she gasps. “Too much.”

He smiles and replaces his nose with his soft lips, pinching gently through the cotton.

“Ahhh, yes” she mutters now, her cunt pulsing, heat flaring deep inside it. He pulls the fabric of her panties to one side with one hand and touches his warm, smooth tongue on her clit. Her belly muscles tense suddenly at the feel and she shakes. Tom must have liked the look of her wobbling tits, still half tangled with her bra, because he reaches one hand up to fumble them, while his tongue presses between her folds and starts lapping in circles over her sweet spot. She is clasping the sheets and tightening her thighs around his head, unable to control herself, trying not to shout.

Then the hand on her tits comes down to explore her folds, stroking her clit, pressing on it, and then seeking her slit. Tom slips two fingers in easily —she is dripping wet— and curls it up to press against her g-spot, while his tongue keeps flicking on the outside. The panties are not totally pushed to the side now, half the fabric falling on her cunt, and the mess of uneven sensations is unnerving and wildly hot.

She moans a bit too loud, and curses, and pushes down against his hand, against his face. Tom is fingering her at a constant rhythm now, while her tongue alternates between sharp flicks and hard pressure. Never stopping his fingers, he rears his head to look at her squirming and writhing and snaking her hips, arching her back, dragging her own fingers through her hair, kneading her own breasts —bra around her neck now—, biting her lip hard, steadily more and more undone with pleasure.

“How do you like it?” he asks, still pumping his fingers in and out, putting pressure on her g-spot.

“Faster” she says, a choked thread of a voice, as much as she can let out without it quickly turning into a scream.

He obeys, holding her lips open with two fingers, his tongue flicking and circling her clit, and finger-fucking her with the other hand, strong and fast.

It starts, a flash of white heat and needles surging from deep down and gripping her tight.

“Tom, yes, yes, don’t stop it, yes, right there, oh right there… oh fuck, don’t stop it, don’t stop it…” Her orgasm rips through her, her moan loud and desperate and peppered with curses, and it just keeps on coming. It seems to last for an age, her cunt clenching tight around his fingers, her hips raising so that his mouth won’t move away yet, while climax washes through her.

She opens her eyes and looks at him, drowsy with satisfaction. It puts the smuggest, most charming grin on his ridiculously handsome face.

“Good?” he whispers.

She rolls her eyes and raises one knee to kick his shoulder in retaliation. He laughs and, was that a tickle down below? Well, well, well. Somebody might get extra-fucking-lucky tonight.

“Up.” He pats the bed, and she slithers up to make room for him. It’s cramped, and he is bloody never-ending, but they’ll make do one way or another. He flicks the elastic waistband of her panties, cocking an eyebrow. She lifts her ass from the mattress and off they come. He throws them backwards over his head and she laughs. She takes the chance to get rid of her bra. She sends it flying over his head as well.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks.

She has a pair of dreamy eyes on that beautiful cock of his that she’s been thinking of since this afternoon. And frankly, he can do whatever he want to her if he asks with that voice.

“Condom?” she says.

He gets up and bends double to have a rummage through the pockets of his jacket on the floor, affording her a most impressive view of his marvellously long legs and that perfect, gasp-inducing rump. He returns victorious and sits on his heels on the bed, between her raised knees.

“Put it on me?” he asks, handing the condom over, after having ripped a corner of the packet. She lifts her upper body to reach, and that must do something to her tits he really likes, because as she rolls the condom down he reaches to stroke them and knead them. There’s a remote throb in her cunt. Tonight is definitely looking good for second comings. Somebody call the Vatican.

When she is done, she cups his jaw for a kiss and lies down, dragging him over her body. He lies flush on top of her, his weight sublime, his cock prodding hard against her thigh. She parts her legs wide and he positions himself. She grabs his cock to guide him and she shoves it in deep in one smooth thrust. She moans, her cunt definitely still awake and responsive, full and hot. He starts fucking her, his face unhinged, mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, supporting his weight on two strong, rock hard arms on either side of her body, working his hips between her thighs. She listens to him moaning and grunting as he fills her, and her cunt tightens around him. 

Sweet Jesus, if he can keep it up she will absolutely come again.

“Harder” she mutters, wrapping her calfs around his rump, pushing her hips up in time with his thrusts.

He does as he is bid, pounding into her, making her see stars.

“God, yes…” he mumbles. “Fuuuuck yes…”

He is picking up the pace. She snakes her hips to get some sideways friction. It’s beautiful, and wonderfully hot, and she loves it, but what they’re doing won’t get her there again.

“Wait” she says.

He stops, panting. She pushes him off and he pulls out, holding the condom in place, and sits on his heels, his cock jutting up. She sits up and rolls over, on her hands and knees.

“Oh my fuck” he gasps. Bless him. He doesn’t wait. He gets up on his knees, grips her hips firmly, and fucks her hard and fast.

“Oh yes” she moans.

He pounds into her like a wild animal. She thinks she can feel his cock in her fucking navel. She moans in time with the sharp slap of his body against her ass, the quick, wet slick of their fucking clearly audible in the room.

“Yes, fuck …yes… oh Tom, fuck, yes!”

She props herself against the wall in front of her. Tom fucks harder, faster, it will sting tomorrow, but it’s so insanely good that before long her arms are giving and her front collapses on the bed, ass in the air, biting the pillow, clasping the sheets, muffling her desperate moans into the mattress. His grip around her hips is so tight, she is held in place so firmly, that all she can do is give in and let herself be overwhelmed and owned.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Are you close?” he says, panting.

“Nuh-huh” she chokes out, the slow road to climax almost torture, almost like spinning on the tip of a needle. It’s driving her insane.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I need to come, I need to…” he groans, and he buries himself to the hilt with a long moan that turns breathy towards the end. Short gasps follow his last thrusts, slower, gentler. Then Tom pulls out.

She is absolutely desperate to come now. She turns her head to see what he will do about it.

“Stay like this” he says, panting. He rolls the condom off, ties a knot and puts it to one side. Immediately after, he slips three long fingers inside her, while he finds her clit with his other hand.

“Oh god, yes…” she moans, circling her hips, pressing herself against his touch. She is pretty sure by now their neighbours on the other side of the wall have to be awake and listening, but she just could not care less. All she wants right now is for Tom to keep doing exactly what he is doing. With his fingers pressing and rubbing her clit now, it’s all building up much more quickly.

“Yes, Tom, fuck, yes, please, yes! Don’t stop it, don’t stop it, oh fuck, oh god, yes, yes, yes…!”

Her second orgasm grips her hard, shorter but more intense than the first. He keeps finger fucking her through the aftershocks, slower now, more gentle. When he is sure that she’s done, he pulls his fingers out and kisses the small of her back.

She flops boneless on the bed, as well fucked as it’s possible to be. Tom slithers beside her. The bed is so narrow that there can be no air between them or someone will fall off. He’s lying on his side, she’s on her back. He starts ghosting his fingertips on her skin, all along her body from her neck to her crotch, over her breasts, along her sides. It’s delightful. She tips her face up for his mouth. They kiss lazily for a while. She feels like laughing out of sheer joy. Oh, what a night.

They’re starting to slide into a sweet, glowing, well-fucked drowsiness, his breath cold on her temple, his hand warm over her stomach. 

After some time, they hear wet, slick noises from the other side of the wall, and some urgent, muffled breathing. They look at each other, raised eyebrows, and chuckle as quietly as they can.

Before long, Tom is snoring ever so slightly, still beautiful, the tip of his cock cold against the skin of her thigh.

She will have to sneak out to her own room at dawn, before the boys in the band wake up, and she wonders if he’ll be up for a quick round before she leaves. Right now she is exhausted and sated and it seems impossible, but one look at Tom’s long, beautiful body close to her and, well, you never know.

She sleeps like the dead.

 


End file.
